This had made Mozok smile wickedly.
“I am injured, my troth, that you should doubt my ingenuity,” he had replied.
Now, standing in the tall tower, watching the darkness outside, Mozok turned his “ingenuity” upon the Human.
“You will learn, now, how to thank me for your punishments,” he told her. “But I find that such a lesson is best learned when the sting of punishment is still felt. And so we will take you to our trothlapp’e.” Mozok looked over at Voso. “I communicated to the servants to prepare our trothlapp’e,” he explained. Voso could not help but feel a rush of excitement, for the room had always existed, but thus far never used.
The Human did not change her expression. Voso admired this.
It was, after all, no fun to break something that was limp and flexible anyway. The satisfaction of struggling with, and then hearing snap, the strong branch, far exceeded the thrill of a disintegrating reed.
“What is that?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm.
Voso could tell that Mozok was intrigued by her boldness and her curiosity. He did not appreciate dull-witted hominids of any race. But speaking in such a bold way was strictly forbidden in Trothplight, and the Human would need to learn her lesson.
Mozok stepped forward, placing a finger on the Human’s chest, where the robe wrapped together. He slowly drew his finger down her delicate skin, making the robe part and expose her pert Human breasts and their pleasing rounded shape. “You shall be punished, plighttrothka, for speaking to me without permission. But I shall take pity on you this once and combine your training punishment with the punishment for this transgression. And I shall answer your question because I will enjoy smelling your fear as you crawl to the trothlapp’e. The trothlapp’e is a chamber of punishment.”
“Crawl?!” the Human said, almost interrupting Mozok.
“I see we have much work to do,” Mozok said, in Draquun.
The Human glared at him and put her hands on her hips. “I just need some clarification,” she said bitterly. “I’m not Draquun. You want me to crawl? To the troth-whatever?”
Mozok was silent for a moment. He appeared to be thinking.
“Ah,” he said at last. “Crawl. No, this is the wrong word. You will…” He turned to Voso, as if he wished to ask him for a translation, and Voso sincerely hoped he would not. His own English was far inferior. Voso did not know this word “crawl,” but he suspected it was a translation of hertorthkla’a, the walk of the trothka, in which the female was bound by a collar that fixed her hands in a position of supplication, palms together, behind her back, and which forced her to bow her head in submission. The trothka wore this device until the consummation of the Trothplight, after which time her trothkei, or masters, would allow her to walk freely, provided that she assumed the submissive posture whenever ordered to do so and usually of her own free will.
Mozok reached for Mina and turned her around, so that her back was to him. “I do not have your device, and so I will show you.” He reached for a one arm, and placed it behind her back, then the other, twisting her hands to force her palms together.
She was obviously uncomfortable, but she kept her complaints to herself, even when Mozok pushed her gently on the base of her skull, lowering her chin to her shoulders.
“Like this,” he said.
Voso heard Mina exhale and the sound seemed defiant, but that was all.
“To the trothlapp’e,” Mozok ordered, prodding Mina forward.
CHAPTER7
Though the mention of the “punishment chamber” had unnerved her, Mina managed to keep herself under control. As she walked with her eyes on the strange floor, her arms aching from pressing her palms together behind her back in the contorted position Mozok had put her in, she silently thanked herself for having practiced the ancient art of yoga. Otherwise, this would have been unbearable. She could not help but feel a sense of anticipation, as much as dread.
She didn’t want to be punished, and certainly not by these crazy aliens… And yet, the words “chamber of punishment” had sent yet another unwanted and unexpected thrill through her core.
More punishments. Thanking Mozok for his punishments. It was all so humiliating, and her palms were sweating with the mild fear that coursed through her body.
Still… she could always end it and knowing that she could gave her strength. She could endure this stupid Trothplight, and she would. She had no choice, and they underestimated her resolve.
They walked for what seemed like miles, though Mina was sure the fortress could not be as big as that. She was, however, very lost. At last, they arrived at a door and Mozok opened it, motioning with his hand for her to enter.
Mina was sorely tempted to lift her head and look around, but Mozok had not given the command. She wasn’t a glutton for punishment—especially if she didn’t even know what that punishment would be. Given that they had traveled to a whole different room for it, she suspected it would be something a little more spectacular.
She reminded herself, as a tiny flare of fear flumed in her chest, that this was a game. All she had to do was stay focused and win. She kept her eyes on the floor and marveled at the pleasure it gave her to obey Mozok.
Was it pleasure at the obedience, she wondered.
No. It was pleasure at winning, she assured herself.
“We are here,” Mozok said. “I wish for you to look around.”
